


Us Two

by LadyCharity



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Execution, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Loki Feels, Norse Bro Feels, Post-Avengers, Sad, Thor Feels, Tragedy, in which a. a. milne is an AEsir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:56:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCharity/pseuds/LadyCharity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor’s last moments with Loki before his little brother is sentenced to death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Us Two

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: A.A. Milne is now an Asgardian because of reasons.
> 
> I wrote this on my last day at home before going to college for the first time some months ago, so the idea of loss of childhood and moving on is a very prevalent theme. Enjoy!

“No.”

Thor’s voice was softer than ever before as the noble court of Asgard filed out of the grand hall and the guards closed in. Odin’s gaze was unwavering, but Thor was not blind to his shaking fist. Frigga was as white as moonlight, her eyes wide and glimmering with horror.

“Father, you can’t.”

Loki did not move; in fact, if Thor did not know better, he looked as if he did not hear anything at all. But his green eyes had widened for a fraction of a second when he heard his judgment—not in surprise, but as if he had realized for the first time in a long time that he was still alive, breathing, this very moment, and not lost in a dream—or perhaps more accurately, a nightmare.

“Father, please—”

“Thor,” Odin said, his tone passing off as warningly as weary and broken as it was.

The guards pulled Loki off of his knees to stand. Loki did not resist, and a feral side of Thor inwardly begged Loki would fight, snarl despite the muzzle upon his lips, rip off the binds and disappear from Asgard’s clutches. The betrayal would sting, no doubt, and appropriate bitterness would gnaw inside, but Loki would then be safe, and Thor knew it would be worth it.

But Loki did nothing of that sort, letting the guards take him from the hall. Thor hungrily sought for Loki’s gaze, as if he couldn’t take in his younger brother’s face enough, but Loki hid his face and eyes from his family, staring straight ahead into space, as if there was something beyond Asgard, far and away beyond existence that he could still depend on. Whatever it was, it was not here. It was not with Thor.

“Father—”

_I, Odin Allfather—_

“Father, you can’t.”

_—declare Loki Odinson guilty—_

“This isn’t right.”

_—of attempted destruction of two realms, attempted murder, treason—_

“Father, reconsider!”

_—and hereby sentence you—_

“He’s your son!”

_—to death by execution at dawn—_

“ _HAVE MERCY_!”

Thor’s voice echoed in the barren hall, his voice ragged and desperate as the golden pillars whispered his plea after him. He gasped for breath, searching wildly for the father within the king before him. Odin closed his eye, as if trying to block out his eldest in order to erase both sons from his presence. A storm raged in Thor—one of anger, of horror and betrayal, of raw and unimaginable pain.

Frigga looked as if she was on the verge of collapse, her hand upon her heaving chest as she fought for air amid her sobs. Odin slowly opened his eye and reached out for her, but she backed away immediately like a hurt animal, her face ashen and drawn. Odin recoiled slightly, letting his hand fall to his side, and when he spoke it reminded Thor of the ticking of a breaking grandfather clock, nothing like the avalanche he was so used to.

“Loki has committed crimes that nearly brought the destruction of many realms,” Odin said. “I have no other choice.”

“No other choice?” said Thor. “He is your son. He is your youngest child, and you are condemning him to die.”

“Do not speak as if you presume to understand the gravity of this situation,” Odin said, a growl fraying the edge of his voice.

“Go on and call me greedy again! For selfish I am, that I want my brother to live and be with me,” Thor said.

“Do you think this was an easy choice for me to make?” Odin said. The Allfather’s composure of solid gold was crumbling, peeling away to reveal the quaking, fracturing heart underneath. “Do you think I take pleasure in sentencing Loki to death? I too cradled him when he was a child, I watched over him when he grew to become a man, I grieved when he fell—do not be mistaken to think I care not for him.”

Thor swallowed hard, the lump in his throat searing. Odin spoke words, but Thor couldn’t bring himself to accept them. It was much easier, he realized bitterly, to believe a father to be unloving to commit such terrible acts upon their child, as he was sure Loki had already realized earlier. Should Odin love Loki and still condemn him seemed an act of nature—a tragedy meant only for stories and plays that reality should never steal. Irony too cruel to bring to life.

“Then banish him, like you did with me,” said Thor. “I learned my lesson—he too has hope. He’s not lost, Father, believe me when I say it. He has good still in him, I know it,  _I know it._ Please—” His voice broke, and he fell to his knees as if in prayer. “Please do not take my brother away from me again.”

“Oh, my child,” Odin said, his voice barely above a whisper. He descended from his steps until he stood in front of Thor and knelt down before him.

“He’s our family,” said Thor, unashamed of how much his voice shook. “Would you kill your own family?” He knew, just by looking upon Frigga’s heartbroken face and Odin’s graveness and even feel the unnamed agony within him that Loki’s death would only break them, and a life of immortality would only prolong the grief. Immortals could not move on when they were timeless.

“If it were anyone else besides Loki who committed these crimes, would you speak up? Would you protest?” Odin said. He gave a tired sigh and placed his hands on Thor’s shoulders. Thor stiffened, half inclined to pull away. “For many ages I have forced parents to bury their children because of war or justice for the good of Asgard. What king would I be if I refused to do the same?”

Thor tore himself away from Odin, feeling as if he would crumble into salt should he stay too long in his father’s grasp. He knew he ought to understand, but it was his little brother that had been driven with grief and anger to commit those crimes and now it was his little brother that would be executed tomorrow morning, and all thoughts of kingship and duties soured into nothingness.

“Where have you taken him?” he said.

“In his old chambers,” Frigga whispered. Her cheeks shone with her tears and she leaned against Odin’s throne for support.

“I will see him,” Thor said. He swiftly turned on his heels toward the exit of the hall. He looked back briefly toward Odin, who still kneeled on the ground. His heart hurt at the sight of his almighty father in shambles, but bitterness settled in him. “Will you?”

He did not stay long enough for Odin to answer, disappearing down the gilded halls of Asgard.

True to Odin’s word, Thor found Loki behind the doors of his former bedchambers before he had fallen from the Bifrost. The guards at the door ought to have hesitated in letting him in so quickly after the sentencing, but they undoubtedly sensed the god of thunder’s anxious ire before he even turned the corner and stepped aside for him without uttering a single word.

Thor pressed his hand upon the handsome door, all of a sudden hesitating in the last second. What would he saw on the other side? For a moment he wildly believed Loki would be already gone, and all that was left was an empty room gathering dust, that like a bad dream he had misunderstood the time of the execution and was too late in saying goodbye. But he braced his breath and heart and pushed the door, letting himself inside.

For only a second Thor thought he had gone back in time when they were barely out of their adolescence. Loki sat upon his rich green bed, dressed in simple clothes (and thankfully without the muzzle), and if time had been merciful, Thor would be bounding into the room with another wild story of bravado, launching himself on top of Loki’s bed until Loki nearly flew off at the impact. But all of a sudden Thor noticed how much smaller the bed was compared to the olden days, and how much colder the room felt with only slender candles to light the way.

Loki’s face was half swathed in the shadows, unreadable. He did not react when Thor entered the room, and when Thor closed the door behind him Loki merely let his head fall back upon the headboard to stare up at the ceiling. Thor took a step forward, his boots making the floor creak. He almost winced; a cursed board that always spoiled his surprise when he tried creeping up on Loki. Of all the things in Asgard, after all this time, at least that did not change.

“Loki,” Thor said.

Loki exhaled softly before turning his head toward Thor. He looked so delicate, his face pale in the dim room and his form so famished upon the covers that it barely made an indent. Starved of food—of affection?—of a second chance.

“Strangely,” said Loki, “I knew you would be the one to come.” The corner of his lips tugged to a half smile as he turned away. “Perhaps that’s one thing of you that has not yet changed.”

Thor swallowed. How could Loki think Thor so changed when it was he who had become someone so different, so broken and swallowed by darkness until what was left of him was broken and shoved in the back of his mind, only lifting his shaking head should anyone even think of shining light on the forgotten corner?

“I’m—” Thor hesitated before sighing. “I didn’t expect this.”

“What?” said Loki. “My judgment?” He waved a hand in the air as if to clear fog. “I thought you would already know that the Allfather is not so creative with his punishments.”

“I half expected you to run away,” Thor said.

“Is that what you want?” said Loki.

_Yes,_ Thor thought. But he kept his silence. Loki understood anyway, and he bowed his head slightly.

“I’m tired of running,” said Loki. “I’ve been running all my life. Running to, running from, running for. Not anymore.”

“You accept death?” said Thor, and he nearly choked on the horrible words.

Loki turned to Thor, raising an eyebrow. “I accepted it ever since I fell from the Bifrost. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

Thor felt a hollow hole cave itself through his chest. He suddenly felt the urge to reach out for Loki, to take him in his arms and run away to a barren moon, to an undiscovered star, and just bask in knowing that Loki was alive and safe, and  _with him—_ but he couldn’t. Why was it so difficult to choose between doing what was right, and doing what was  _right_?

“What do you want, anyway?” said Loki. “Disappointed I’m not a sniveling, begging prisoner?”

“Loki,” said Thor.

Loki stayed silent. Thor moved to sit upon the foot of Loki’s bed. Loki looked as if he had half the mind to kick Thor off, but reluctant acceptance stayed his foot.

“Why are you here?” said Loki quietly.

Thor turned to face Loki. Broken blue met icy green. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Loki took in a deep breath, meeting Thor’s gaze evenly with practiced indifference, but Thor was his brother after all and could see the mask flaking away on its edges.

“I think,” Loki said in a low voice, “that it’s a little late for you to change anything.”

“Oh, Loki,” said Thor. “Can I not just want to be with you?”

Loki’s gaze flickered downward and he said nothing. Thor caught sight of the clothes Loki wore and realized he didn’t recognize them. They were not Loki’s simple attire from his wardrobe, instead embroidered with golden thread in intricate runes and images. He then understood that these were Loki’s burial clothes, and his heart clenched. It became all too apparent that should he walk out of these doors now or later, it could be the last time he would see his brother alive again.

“Are you scared?” Loki said.

Thor started a little. He opened his mouth but found his mouth to be very dry. He thought of lying or changing the subject, but Loki had been lied to for so long in his life. He didn’t deserve any more dishonesty anymore.

“Yes,” Thor said.

Loki gave a dry chuckle and shook his head. “Death comes to all. The Allfather is merely saving me the trouble of waiting. Though,” Loki gave Thor a sharp gaze, “perhaps considering you’re undoubtedly going to Valhalla, and I’m undoubtedly not, you think we’ll never see each other again. Even beyond this.”

“Don’t speak like that,” Thor said. “Please, do not let your last words be to hurt me, even if you so desire it. I beg this of you.”

Loki’s light eyes softened and he looked toward the window. The curtains were half-drawn, and dusk dusted the sky. How many hours until nightfall—until dawn? If he slept now, would he even dream?

“Do you think,” said Loki, “things could have gone differently?”

Thor put a hand on Loki’s ankle as if to assure himself Loki was still there, and not a hallucination or a projection to fool him. It felt delicate under his palm, like gossamer glass. Should he press harder, Loki might be crushed to dust, and he would be gone too soon.

“It could have gone a thousand different ways,” said Thor. “And it would matter not, for I would love you with all my heart either way. Just as I do now. Even now.”

Loki’s thin hands slowly curled into fists upon the covers, but there was no strength in those bones anymore.

“And I hate you even more now,” said Loki. “But I would not love you less. My brother.”

Thor felt as if he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Loki, trying to capture his brother in his mind to keep him alive even if tomorrow he would be gone. Tomorrow was too soon to die, not when the famously beautiful comets of Yggdrasil were expected to soar next month and Thor’s betrothal to Jane in the coming year. What ought to feel would come so soon would be things that Loki would never see. Tomorrow was far too soon.

“I would live through this all over again,” said Thor. “Even the pain of fighting you and watching you hate me, just to spend more time with you.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Loki with a wry smile. “If I were to live through this again, I would have made different choices.”

He pushed himself to sit up a little straighter, his ankle nearly slipping away from under Thor’s grasp. Thor briefly panicked a moment, hastily keeping his hand upon Loki as if to anchor him to life.

“Thor,” said Loki.

“Yes?” said Thor.

Loki lifted a slim finger to the bookcase on the other side of the room. “ _The Poetry of Per the Bard._ Come bring it here, please.”

Thor slid off the bed, reluctant to let his hand fall from Loki, but he slid the large tome of children’s poetry from the bookshelf. He was surprised Loki still had it, as dust covered and musty it was, but the cover wasn’t too worn and the pages none too yellowed. He returned to his place on Loki’s bed.

“Read to me,” Loki said, closing his eyes. “You remember my favorites, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Thor, watching Loki tenderly. Just resting, he told himself as his gaze fell over Loki’s still form and closed eyes. He was only resting. He cracked open the nostalgic tome to the middle, flipping the pages that screeched like sandpaper until he fell upon Loki’s favorite of olden days. He thought of how Loki would badger Frigga to read it over and over again until the both of them would doze off upon her lap, and when they awoke found the magic of being tucked in neatly in the bed.

“ _Wherever I am, there’s always Pooh,_

_There’s always Pooh and me._

_Whatever I do, he wants to do,_

_‘Where are you going today?’ says Pooh:_

_‘Well, that’svery odd, ‘cause I was too._

_Let’s go together,’ says Pooh, says he._

_‘Let’s go together,” says Pooh._

Thor glanced up briefly. Loki’s eyes were still closed as if under a spell. He tried to imagine that this was just another episode of their childhood, and tomorrow they would wake up side by side tucked under tight sheets. That tomorrow, Loki would wake up.

“Do the voices,” said Loki.

“Sorry?” said Thor.

“The voices.” Loki cracked open one eye to look at Thor. “Like how Mother did when she spoke for Pooh.”

“Ah, of course,” said Thor. He cleared his throat and perfected his voice to match the past.

“ _‘What’s twice eleven?’ I said to Pooh._

_(‘Twice what?’ said Pooh to me.)_

_‘I think it ought to be twenty-two.’_

_‘Just what I think myself,’ said Pooh._

_‘It wasn’t an easy sum to do,_

_But that’s what it is,’ said Pooh, said he._

_‘That’s what it is,’ said Pooh.”_

Thor’s voice cracked slightly at the end after straining itself into a falsetto. Loki cracked a smile at the sound and even Thor couldn’t help but smile. Loki rested his head against the headboard, breathing lightly as if afraid his breath would interrupt the poem. Thor wished he could contradict. Who knew how much longer Thor had to hear it at all?

“‘ _Let’s look for dragons,’ I said to Pooh._

_‘Yes, let’s,’ said Pooh to Me—”_

He saw Loki mouthing the words silently along with him, and he clenched his teeth for a moment just to keep his emotions barred inside him. He wished he was a child again, and wondered why he had longed to grow up when he was little. He could only dwell on the fact that those golden days were long ago, and he couldn’t remember how it felt to not be afraid, to not be full of sorrow.

_“‘We crossed the river and found a few—_

_‘Yes, those are dragons all right,’ said Pooh._

_‘As soon as I saw their beaks I knew._

_That’s what they are,’ said Pooh, said he._

_‘That’s what they are,’ said Pooh._ ”

Thor realized how hard it was to breathe, and he couldn’t take his eyes away from Loki. He was afraid to let go, even though he knew it was inevitable, that he must, that nothing could stop tomorrow from coming. Tomorrow would come, and it wouldn’t matter that the sun would rise because Loki would die and Thor couldn’t understand how he was supposed to take another breath after it would happen. Tears clouded his vision, and only memory could serve him as he recited the half-forgotten past.

“ _‘Let’s frighten the dragons,’ I said to Pooh._

_‘That’s right,’ said Pooh to Me._

_‘I’m not afraid,’ I said to Pooh,_

_And I held his paw and I shouted ‘Shoo!_

_Silly old dragons!’ –and off they flew.”_

In the past, Thor would have leapt from the bed, his arms brandished to scare off the dragons. Loki would cling on Mother’s arm, half irritated that Thor was interrupting the story and half awed as imaginary dragons crowded the ceiling. What had happened in their youth, in their adolescence and until now that time seemed to have passed so fast?

_“‘I wasn’t afraid,’ said Pooh, said he,_

_‘I’m never afraid with you.’”_

His little brother was going to die, and there was nothing he could do. Choked sobs wracked his throat but he read anyway, not caring if Loki thought him weak, not caring if he ought to be embarrassed. He held Loki tightly, as if all it took to let Loki know everything Thor felt was just through a touch.

_“So wherever I am, there’s always Pooh,_

_There’s always Pooh and Me._

_‘What would I do?’ I said to Pooh,_

_‘If it wasn’t for you,’ and Pooh said: ‘True,_

_It isn’t much fun for one, but Two,_

_Can stick together, says Pooh says he._

_‘That’s how it is,’ says Pooh”_

The last word slipped into nothingness from Thor’s tongue and he lowered his head, his large shoulders shaking. He couldn’t hold back the hot tears that welled in his eyes, nor could he tame the sobs that tore his throat. He could feel every piece of his heart shatter as seconds rushed past him, seconds that would kill his brother and leave him utterly alone for eternity.

_I don’t want you to die,_ Thor thought to Loki, but the cries rendered his mouth too torn to speak.  _I don’t want you to die. I don’t want you to die._

He felt thin arms wrap around his quivering shoulders and his head jerked up immediately. Loki had crawled next to him, holding him—what he hadn’t done in years. In those eyes, he asked,  _Why do you weep for someone like me?_ In those eyes, he asked,  _Why do you care?_ In those eyes, he said,  _I’m not afraid, never afraid with you._

And so Thor clutched his brother as if it was he who would die tomorrow, letting the tears baptize the both of them on the eve of death. Loki said nothing as he held Thor—perhaps there was nothing to say—closing his eyes and letting time pass so quickly and softly between them. As if they were children again, trapped in adult horrors and adult crimes. Unaware and untouched. Alive.

Thor didn’t know when they drifted to sleep together, somewhere in the folds of the velvet night, but when he woke he found him and Loki side by side in the bed, sheets tucked tightly about them, the book of poetry placed neatly on the nightstand. A trail of tears to the door.

~

_The goblet of poison from a hemlock tree_

_The fallen prince it slew._

_But ‘I’m not afraid,’ to Thor, said he,_

_‘I’m never afraid with you.’_


End file.
